


Our Dads Play Matchmaker

by DaydreamDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Blind Date, Bossy Castiel, Bottom Castiel, Grumpy Castiel, M/M, Matchmaking, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Castiel, Power Play, Rimming, Sassy Castiel, Sub Dean, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamDestiel/pseuds/DaydreamDestiel
Summary: Dean's not your average alpha. Sure, he looks and generally acts like one, but there's a lot left to be desired beneath his surface according to society.Cas doesn't think he needs a mate. He's mostly happy with his life. Alpha's are just control-freak possessive jerks that he's better off without.Until their dad's set them up. And then all bets are off.





	Our Dads Play Matchmaker

**Author's Note:**

> Yay!! Happy 50th work on ao3 to me!! I've been kind of rolling around the idea of trying out abo for a while now, and with my 50th work waiting to be created, it seemed like a good time. ;) 
> 
> The lovely artboard that [@roobear68](http://roobear68.tumblr.com) made was the final kick in the pants I needed. It's so adorable, I couldn't Not give it a story.

In some ways, Dean Winchester is exactly the kind of guy people think of when they think about a typical alpha. He’s big, he’s tall, he’s got the macho tough guy act downpat. Except for the part where it’s an act. Because he might like his liquor hard and his music rough and loud, but underneath that shiny veneer, he’s actually kind of soft. He can fit in with the guys at the garage just fine, with the crowd at the bar. But one night stands wear thin when they expect Dean to take charge and be as aggressive in the sack as alpha’s are supposed to be.

He’s never been one to go for all that scent-bond lovey-dovey crap that Sam’s always secretly pining over. Mostly because he doesn’t think he could spend every single day of his life pretending he doesn’t like Dr. Sexy and books that make him think and that the idea of being pushed around in bed doesn’t excite him. So he doesn’t bother trying in the first place. The last relationship he had fell apart just as soon as she realized that Dean wasn’t gonna go all teritorial-you’re-mine over her every other second. But that’s what he got for falling for an omega.

These days he sticks to picking up betas. They seem to have less preconceived notions about how Dean oughta act in bed. Or at least they aren’t as disappointed when Dean doesn’t get all that aggressive with them. Some of them even get off on giving him what he guiltily craves. Lately though, even that hasn’t held the same appeal for him. Dean’s pushing thirty and unmated. Mostly he couldn’t give less of a crap about that. His dad, though? Definitely cares.  

Which is unfortunate for Dean because Dad gets crafty when he cares about something. He plots and plans and best of intentions things to death. And maybe it’s partly his parents fault that Dean’s not a typical alpha underneath it all, ‘cause Mom’s definitely not either. Sure, she’s tough as nails, take no prisoners—but when it comes to Dad she’s pretty much putty.

Attitudes have for sure been shifting in favor of equality for a long time, but there’s still a stigma that surrounds alphas and omegas who don’t quite fit societies molds. Dean’s gotten good at blending in because of it. Figures he covers his tracks pretty well, anyway. Just comes across as a love ‘em and leave ‘em type. He can live with that kind of a rep. 

 

—— 

 

A frustrated growl rumbles in Cas’s chest as he slams his basement bedroom door closed. His skin’s burning up and his clothes are suffocating. Blockers only cover up so much and the bus ride and subsequent walk home had been irritating to say the least. Alpha’s left and right scenting him—thinking they could touch him—just because he smelled good. Why couldn’t his body be predictable? Four days ahead of schedule and he’d been in the middle of a meeting with his boss when he realized what was happening.

The only thing more humiliating than feeling his heat coming on at work was being in the same room as Zachariah Adler when he noticed his symptoms. The sick smell of him like too much cologne and stale cigarette smoke had made Cas desperate to duck outside for fresh air. Instead he’d had to breathe through his mouth and put in for leave to go home early the second he’d left Zachariah’s office.

Petulantly, Cas strips out of his clothes, grabs a bottle of water from his mini-fridge, a protein bar from the basket on top and crawls into bed. Does his best to ignore his throbbing erection. Thirty-two is plenty old enough to know that the longer he holds out, the less likely he is to rub himself raw. There's only so many times you can jerk off in a row before you hurt yourself and he likes to save his fake knots for when he gets really desperate toward the end.

He sits back against the headboard and makes himself eat even though he isn’t hungry. Later on he’ll regret it if he doesn’t. It takes him a while to manage the whole bar between sips of water, but he gets it down. His hair is already damp with sweat and it prickles at his temples and the back of his neck. He’s leaking slick, sticky wet, and it’s almost as uncomfortable as it is hot.

There’s a knock on his door that makes his head snap up and he yanks his blanket over his lap before he yells, “Yeah?”

“Okay if I come in, champ?” His dad calls through the door. “I made you a smoothie and I’ve got some of those cookies you like. You know, with the, uh, stuff in them.”

Cas almost wants to laugh. He’s in his early thirties, still lives with his dad and not only does said dad still call him champ and make him cookies when he’s in heat, he makes him pot cookies and calls the pot stuff. That article that Cas’d forwarded him about nausea relief had been fully taken to heart. The fact that he’s currently pretty damn miserable is the only thing that keeps him from finding any of it truly funny.

“Yes,” He says loud enough for his dad to hear then heaves a quiet sigh, rubs his hand over his face. “Just quick okay?” He doesn’t need another lecture—no matter how well intended—on the topic of settling down with a nice alpha. He’s met plenty of nice alphas who turn into total assholes the second they decide you belong with them; or more accurately, to them. If he wasn’t allergic to suppressants, Cas would just be on them permanently and then this wouldn’t be a problem in the first place.

“You got it, kiddo.”

His door swings silently open and then his dad walks down the steps with a carefully balanced wooden breakfast tray. On the bottom step he almost fumbles it, but he recovers with a sheepish smile and brings it over. He sets it on the bed next to Cas and then shuffles awkwardly. “So, how’s it going?” 

Cas’s eyes roll involuntarily, “Great. I’m fantastic. Just how I pictured life in my thirties would go.”

“You know, you say that sarcastically, but you’re not doing anything to-”

The dreaded if you mated speech, awesome. “Thanks for the food, Dad. I’m just really tired. So, I’m gonna take a nap while I can, maybe we can save the talk for—I dunno—three or four days from now?” Or never. Preferably that.

“Oh—yeah, sure. I’ll just—uh.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door, this sort of hurt look on his face that Cas doesn’t want to feel guilty about but does anyway. Cas sighs and closes his eyes until he hears the sound of his mini-fridge opening. At his inquisitive look his dad offers him a little smile. “Just making sure you’re stocked up in case you get thirsty or hungry. Anything you want at the store? I have to make a run, so…”

Fondness for his dad’s consideration fills Cas’s chest and makes him feel like even more of an asshole for his short temper. “I’m good.” He hesitates. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, buddy. Take it easy.”

His dad’s footsteps fade up the stairs and Cas lets out a harsh breath before he flops down onto his side. His dad knows exactly why Cas isn’t mated. He’s too weird and unintentionally rude. He doesn’t deal well with alphas who try and assert their so-called authority over him. Authority in general has been a problem for Cas. In school he’d constantly gotten in trouble for his rebellious nature. For his need to question everything. It still got him into trouble sometimes at Sandover Publishing.

Omegas who buck at authority aren’t so rare that it’s never been heard of, but it isn’t encouraged either. No alpha wants an omega who won’t defer to him if pressed. Or one who prefers to be in control. Even the idea of giving up control temporarily to get through his heat has been out of the question for Cas. And he’s fine with that. He generally likes his life. Maybe sometimes he wishes he was different or that things were different, but he’s fine.

Really.

 

—— 

 

Dean parks his car way back in the shadows of the rear parking lot at the weirdly fancy restaurant his dad had picked out. The sun’s rapidly fading from the sky in an orange purple glow on the horizon, but it’s still hot as balls out. There’s not much else around this particular restaurant, which strikes Dean as odd. But he figures it’s part of the atmosphere or whatever. A wraparound patio dotted with nice tables and large black umbrellas at each one, those little white twinkle Christmas lights strung between them just starting to light up catches Dean’s attention as he climbs out of his car.

A wriggle of suspicion nags at him. This place definitely isn’t the usual sort of watering hole greasy spoon type place that Dad chooses for their monthly father-sons night. By the time he’s walking through the door, he’s already figured out that it’s a setup. He could just turn around and get back in his car, but he figures whatever poor schmuck Dad’s roped into this doesn’t deserve to wait around like a loser by themselves. It’s that same sense of duty that always gets Dean into trouble.

He tells the pretty girl up front his name, and she smiles as she looks up his reservation. By now, Dean knows Dad’s drill when it comes to this. Reservation in Dean’s name, Dad’s credit card on file so he’ll sit through the meal ‘cause hey, free food. What can he say? The man knows him.

“Oh.” She looks up from the computer with a smirk that Dean knows means she’s in on the whole blind date thing. He just barely resists rolling his eyes at the starry-hopeful look on her face. “Your guest’s already been seated.” She grabs a menu and says, “He’s right over here.”

She leads him to an isolated booth in the back. He can’t see whoever’s waiting for him over the top of the highback privacy wall that extends above the booth’s seat. His stomach unknots when he realizes that he can’t smell whoever it is when he approaches either. Maybe it’s not that kind of setup. Weird.

The girl whose name he hasn’t bothered to get slides a menu onto the table and smiles at him. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”

She’s gone before Dean even gets all the way to the table. He tries not to sigh as he slides into the empty side of the booth, then he looks up and hell. Whoever this guy is, Dad got Dean’s type right; tall with broad shoulders, perfect dusting of dark stubble on his sharp jaw that makes Dean’s mouth water, tan skin that he’s already halfway to thinking about sinking his teeth into, all before he meets the guy’s narrowed holy-shit-blue eyes. Dean’s mouth goes dry at the thinly disguised hostility in his features. Definitely not a look he’s used to getting when Dad tries to set him up with someone. And he shouldn’t find that so exciting, but he does.

Dean offers him a lopsided smile, “‘Fraid I’m at a disadvantage here. Dad didn’t exactly give me your name.”

Dean’s smile has charmed his way out of more situations than he can count, but if anything the guy’s eyes narrow even further,

“Castiel.” he says icily. “And despite whatever my father told you, I’m not interested.”

Huh. Also new. Dean’s usually the unwilling party, but his Dad’s never set him up with—Dean tries to sniff subtly to double check—and oh, he was wrong. Underneath a layer of careful neutrality (blockers, he’s pretty sure) is the faintest scent of pissed off omega. Well, now  _ that _ is interesting. “Guess that’s good. I’m Dean. Also not interested.”

Castiel’s eyebrows raise a little before his face settles into confusion. Before he has time to ask whatever he parts his lips for, the waiter arrives to take their drink order. Dean requests a beer, whatever's most expensive, he clarifies. Dad’s paying, and Dean deserves it for being tricked into this. Again. Castiel orders a glass of water.

“Don't drink?” Dean asks after the waiter leaves.

Castiel’s cheeks flush a little and he grumpily admits, “Not with people I don't know.”

“Guess that's smart.” Dean says. He's never really had to worry about being taken advantage of when he's drinking by luck of both his first and secondary genders, but he knows women and omegas don't really have that same luxury. It's probably one of the few things that bring out that alpha-rage must-protect type of feeling in him.

Castiel assesses him and Dean’s not sure but that little curl at the corners of his lips almost looks like faint approval. It's quickly squashed when Cas shifts uncomfortably and lets out a slow sigh. “Listen, Dean. You seem like a fairly nice guy. I'm sure you're wonderful, but I don't date alphas.”

Dean smirks at him even though something weird twists in his gut. “Slow your roll, Castiel.  I didn't come here with some plan to sweep you off your feet and drag you back to my cave or whatever you're thinking. I don't date omegas.”

There's a frown on Castiel's pouty pink lips now, and that uncomfortable feeling in Dean's gut kind of multiplies in response. “I—how did you?”

Their conversation is interrupted when the waiter drops off their drinks and offers to give them some more time with the menu.

Once he’s gone, Dean fills Castiel in. “Your blockers are wearing off,” he shrugs. “It’s faint but I know unhappy omega when I smell one.”

Castiel regards him blackly and says, “I bet you do.” Dean just laughs. Which seems to surprise Castiel before his lips quirk up in the tiniest of smiles. “I was expecting to meet my father here, not a strange alpha. I didn’t bother to touch up after work.”

“It’s too bad you’ve gotta use them at all.” Dean takes a sip of his beer and then leafs through the menu. He glances up when his statement is met with silence and he finds Castiel staring at him.

“It’s the world we live in.” He says flatly like he thinks Dean needs him to justify his actions. Dean cringes as he replays what he said.

He holds up his hands placatingly and says, “I know, dude. I meant it sucks that things are like that and you have to worry about it. Not that it sucks I can’t smell you properly.”

Though a little part of Dean does think that sucks, too. Only because the hint of pleased campfire and sage he smells curling around the edges of his awareness is weirdly intoxicating.

“Well,” Castiel says as he makes to stand up. “Thank you for the water, but as we’re both uninterested, and frankly, I’m not sure why you agreed to this in the first place if that’s the case, I think I’ll just go.”

In spite of his first reaction to make Castiel stay, Dean forces himself to remain seated. “Sure, if you wanna. But, just so we’re clear, I didn’t know we were being set up either. My dad… likes to meddle. But he also covers dinner.” Dean flashes him a devious grin. “So you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, but it’s free dinner and—” Dean gestures around at the restaurant, “—this place ain’t exactly cheap. I’m planning to rack up a big enough bill that he thinks twice next time. Could use some help.” 

 

—— 

 

Cas waffles. Dean was right, his blockers are wearing off, he can already smell things more clearly and Dean, he smells like seasalt ocean air and sunshine summer days spent building sandcastles. Just this hint of redwood forest underscoring it that makes Cas itch to get closer to him. It’s still faint though, distant enough that if Cas concentrates he can ignore it calling to him.

And the idea of making someone pay for this ridiculous matchmaking attempt that it appears neither of them wanted is strong. Dean flashes a disarming smile and Cas drops back into his seat, reluctantly says, “Only if this plan includes a staggering number of desserts.”

Dean’s also unfairly attractive with his green eyes that glitter in triumph, plush pink lips that are unfortunate for Cas’s libido and big hands. He knows this because one of those hands is currently engulfing the large glass of beer he’s nursing.

Dean smirks, “Sweet tooth, huh?”

Not normally, but the tail end of his recently ended heat is making him crave chocolate. Sex too, he thinks, eyeing Dean and dismissing the idea just as quickly. He's not going to sleep with an alpha. Not even this one. “Something like.”

“Yeah, we can do that.” Cas pretends the flash of arousal he feels during the brief second it takes for his brain to register that Dean’s talking about dessert not Cas’s unspoken thoughts doesn’t happen. “You want it before or after we order the most expensive meals on the menu?”

Cas considers for a moment; he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, but he doesn’t want to leave here barely able to walk when he’s got to catch a bus, or a cab afterward. “Before. We could always have the meals packed to go if you feel the desserts aren't enough.”

“Good point.”

A few seconds of awkward silence later, the waiter stops by and Dean orders two of everything on the dessert menu. Including the dessert coffees. Cas’s mouth waters at the thought of sweet, delicious caffeine.

It doesn't take long for their order to arrive. It comes just as Dean finishes his first beer. He orders a second and Cas kind of stares in awe at the twenty little white plates spread across the table with a variety of pies, cakes, mousses and cheesecakes. Six dessert coffees piled high with whip cream. He knows his face is probably ridiculous right now, but he doesn't know where to start.

“Forget the meals,” Cas says eyeing the insane amount of sugar laid out before them. “There's so way we can eat all of this.”

Dean grins wide, boyish charm to his face that Cas deliberately doesn't allow to affect him. He will not let Dean’s apparent good humor drag him out of the irritated mood he’s in. He’s committed.

“I could totally eat half of this. Easily.” Dean declares proudly, like he isn’t talking about giving himself diabetes in a single sitting. He raises his eyebrow at Cas in what’s clearly a challenge. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna go all,” he pitches his voice high and Cas’s annoyance higher, “I can’t possibly eat in front of you, okay fine but just a bite or two.” His voice lowers back to it’s usual register, but there’s still a mildly mocking edge to it, “Like, you guys do know we know you eat, right?”

Cas’s eye might actually twitch while he’s trying to come up with a response to that. After an uncomfortable moment spent glaring at Dean, he grabs one of the largest desserts—a chocolate cheesecake-mousse hybrid that’s flecked with brownie bits and smothered in caramel sauce—and spears a huge chunk of it with a fork. Shoves it in his mouth and bites down on the groan he almost lets out as flavor bursts across his tongue.

“Guess not.” Dean says with a chuckle that does nothing to lessen Cas’s lingering irritation.

After that, it becomes some weird competition between them, who can consume the most sugar and saturated fats, a mission that neither of them seems to want to fail at. Dean had started with the three flavors of pie, a fancy bowl of pudding, and one of the coffees. Cas, for his part, has eaten crème brûlée, two cheesecakes, that chocolate mousse cake, and he’s forced down two coffees. He’s not really sure how he’s planning to stuff more into himself, but he’s reaching for the other crème brûlée when Dean groans and collapses back against the booth.

“Uncle,” he groans pitifully. “You win. I gotta pace myself. I’m too old for this.”

Cas tries not to be smug, or maybe he just thinks about not being smug, because his voice is laced with self-satisfaction when he says, “Oh really, you’re just going to give in that easily?”

“Dude,” Dean replies with an easy smile that Cas can’t imagine any alpha giving an omega who’s beat him at anything, “I know when I’m beat. And there’s not a whole lot of people who can kick my ass at stuffing face.”

Stuffing his face  _ with food,  _ Cas tells his stupid traitorous body, and definitely doesn’t picture Dean’s mouth stuffed with something entirely different. He completely ignores the way Dean’s nostrils flare a little and his eyes go slightly glassy before he seems to get control of himself. And he especially doesn’t savor the curl of alpha arousal that spikes up like heat, there and gone.  

“I skipped lunch.” Cas admits instead of addressing anything of relevance.

Thankfully, Dean seems to be on board with this plan, because he replies, “Man, I’d die if I skipped lunch.”

“I highly doubt that you’d actually expire if you missed a single meal,” Cas says seriously. He’s being an ass, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference to Dean because he just grins and Cas isn’t really sure what to make of that other than that Dean’s far too attractive when he smiles.

“I might.”

“Unlikely.”

Dean’s smile widens, “Could happen, though.” 

“Theoretically, I suppose,” Cas finally admits rather reluctantly. “But it remains unlikely.”

“Low percent’s not no percent,” Dean says, and takes a long draw of his now two-thirds empty beer.

Cas glares at him. He’s infuriating. But also really good-looking and unusually well mannered for an alpha confronted with an argumentative omega. Cas hates that he even thinks that Dean’s more tolerable than the rest because of that. It should be the standard, not the exception, but there they are, and he did think it. Dean sets his glass down, and Cas reaches for it. He needs a damn drink.

To his credit, Dean doesn’t even twitch a muscle when Cas steals it, just smirks at him until Cas chugs the rest of it and snaps, “What?”

“Nothing.” Dean says with a self-deprecating smile. “Known me for what, twenty minutes? And I’m already driving you to drink.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Cas says. “You’re only partially responsible.”

Dean laughs at that, and Cas can’t help the way his lips twitch up with amusement. They end up lingering to let the truly ridiculous amount of sweets they’ve eaten settle, and Dean has the waiter pack up the rest to go.

“You want half?” he asks, and Cas considers it, but he’d have to carry it on the bus and he’s too lazy for that now. He shakes his head, and Dean shrugs a shoulder.

Politeness dictates that he shouldn’t just tell Dean to have a nice night and leave, so he waits and they walk out together. It’s dark out, and though the lights in the parking lot dim them, there are stars dotting the sky. There aren’t many cars in the lot, but for some reason Cas can’t picture Dean in any of them.

“Did you drive here?” Dean asks, startling Cas out of his little staring contest with the Prius nearest the entrance.  

“No.” he admits. Something in his stomach flutters at the concern in Dean’s scent. He’d usually find it off-putting, some stranger ‘worried’ about his welfare, but Dean’s seems genuine and Cas finds he likes it. “I took the bus.”

A hint of a smirk tugs Dean’s lips up, his eyes warm as he says, “I’d offer you a ride,” in his  _ car, _ Cas, stop picturing it, “but I’m pretty sure you’ll say no—”

Dean’s eyes do that glassy wide thing again, and they’re so green. Cas knows he’s scenting the rush of arousal he’s beyond controlling. “Where’s your car, Dean?”

“Uh—” Dean manages, sounding confused and a little rough around the edges. “Back lot. Why?”

Cas’s lips turn up in a devious slow grin, first time for everything right? “Because if you offer me that ride?” his voice is laced with innuendo. Dean’s shallow breaths and the flare of desire in his scent say he gets it. “I’ll take you up on it.”

The keys in Dean’s hand almost get fumbled when Cas takes a step closer to him and he watches Dean’s throat bob as he swallows. Endlessly fascinated with the way that Dean hasn’t made a move toward him despite the very clear arousal he’s exuding.

“You—I, uh,” Dean’s cheeks flush as he struggles with his words. Cas wets his lips and Dean groans a little. He grabs onto Cas’s wrist and drags him behind the restaurant. He stalls just shy of what Cas objectively admits to himself is a gorgeous black car. He’s less appreciative of the stopping.

“Castiel, are you sure?” Dean asks like he’s pulling teeth instead of talking. “I don’t wanna take adv-”

“Get in the backseat, Dean. And call me Cas.” he demands.

For a second Dean just blinks, spike of arousal so hot in his scent that Cas practically burns up with it. Dean’s getting off on this. He  _ likes _ Cas taking charge. He  _ likes _ Cas telling him what to do. Fuck, Cas is leaking slick and fully hard in his pants already, because that’s—that is—ridiculously hot. They haven’t even  _ touched _ , and he’s more aroused than he’s ever been.

Dean takes a shuddering breath, and Cas can’t see his eyes all that clearly in the shadowy darkness, but he feels them on him all the same, “Yeah, okay, yeah,” he says and Cas grins predatorily at him. Hears the sharp intake of Dean’s breath and then he’s unlocking the door. 

 

—— 

 

All of five seconds, that’s how long Dean has to contemplate just how slutty and needy he probably looks all sprawled out in his backseat, upper body wedged against the far side door, one leg bent against the seat back, the other propped up on the floorboard. The hard ridge of his dick straining against his fly and his whole body spread out like an invitation that Cas takes without hesitation.

Dean hates his clothes, he decides, as Cas crawls into the space between his legs and shuts the door. There’s definitely not enough room to get them both totally naked, so Dean hates their clothes even more. He’s turned on beyond belief for someone who hasn’t even been kissed. The smell of Cas is driving him crazy, that campfire scent of him edged with roasting marshmallows and why that turns Dean’s crank so goddamn much, he doesn’t—okay, fine—so it’s not just the irresistible scent of him.

It’s the way Cas hasn’t bothered to kiss him yet, and doesn’t look like he’s going to anytime soon, despite the way his deft fingers are tugging Dean’s belt open. Despite the way his eyes are glued to Dean’s swollen dick when he gets it out of his pants.

“Fuck, you’re big.” Cas breathes, and the hint of amazement in his voice surges something hot in Dean’s gut.

He shoots Cas a cocky smile and says, “What, never seen one before?”

He’s expecting Cas to snipe back at him, but what he gets is Cas’s hand curling experimentally around the base of his dick where his knot’s gonna push out from. “Never an alpha’s.”

And oh, fucking shit. Dean has to close his eyes and breathe ‘cause he’s way too close to losing himself in this already and that shit’s just not  _ fair. _ Some lizard-brain part of him crows about being Cas’s first knot and he ends up saying, “Cas,” in this breathy-high exhale that’s mildly embarrassing.

Cas just smirks at him when Dean opens his eyes, and he wishes it wasn’t so dark out that he couldn’t see color, because he bets Cas’s eyes are vibrant when he’s turned on like this. They were already gorgeous, but he bets they’re even better when his irises are eclipsed by dark pupil, shiny with desire.

There’s a lot of fumbling around then, while Cas scrambles to get his clothes off, and the smell of him fills the car, sticky sweet and mouth-watering. Dean’s practically crawling out of his skin with the need to taste. Somehow Cas manages to get himself fully naked, and Dean reaches out to touch, but Cas gives him a look that has Dean’s hands dropping to his sides, rush of blood right to his dick that makes it bob with excitement.

“My way.” Cas says, authoritative, and Dean nods helplessly. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you knot me. If you’re not, you don’t get to come.”

“Holy fuck.” Dean groans, voice raw with how goddamn hot that is. Arousal that pools fast in his gut and shorts out his brain a little.  “Jesus. I’ll be good.”

Impossibly, the smirk on Cas’s face goes even more wicked. “Good. Here’s what I want to happen: You’re going to use your tongue and your fingers, get me really wet,” Cas’s eyes dart down to Dean’s dick and Dean almost lets out an incredibly embarrassing whimper. “Because it looks like I’m gonna need it if I plan to ride that.” Dean does whimper then, how can he not when Cas is talking like that. “And you want that, right?”

“Please.” Because he’s polite, he can use his manners when he wants to, and the sexy way Cas bites his bottom lip is plenty reward enough to get him to say it again, “God, Cas, please.”

Like he’s thinking it over, Cas hums and Dean’s blood instantly vibrates to the sound, every molecule hanging on the outcome of it, he wants this so bad. He’s never had an omega who wanted this kind of submission from him, but right now, Dean would gladly offer up his neck and beg for it the whole time. “Do you have condoms?” Cas asks and Dean’s brain takes a second to switch gears.

He fumbles for his wallet in his back pocket and it takes some maneuvering, but he frees it. “Yeah, put one in here the other day.” Cas raises an eyebrow at him, and Dean flushes. “I like to be optimistically prepared.  _ You _ pushed  _ me _ into the car.”

Cas’s head inclines a little in acquiescence, and Dean gets the condom out of his wallet. Cas takes it from him, so Dean drops his wallet on the floor, he'll find it later. They end up with one of Cas’s knees wedged in between the side of Dean’s torso and the back seat, his calf stretching up under his shoulder, foot against the door by Dean’s head. His other foot’s braced a little awkwardly on the floor, and he’s bent over, ass pushed right in front of Dean’s face and fuck he smells good.

“Do you need instructions?” he snarks when Dean just stares a little too long, and no, Dean doesn’t, but he wouldn’t  _ mind  _ them. Doesn’t really seem like it’s the time to say that though, with the impatient way Cas’s hips twitch back.

So Dean just smooths his hands up along the backs of Cas’s thighs. A firm steady glide that makes Cas shiver. Dean's kind of in love with the thick shape of them, with the perfect curve of Cas's ass and the slope of his muscled back. With how Cas pushes back into his touch.

“New rule.” Cas grates out, manages to sound both frustrated and epically sexy at the same time, and Dean's not sure how much more he'll survive. Cas is like every wet dream and secret spank bank fantasy he's ever had rolled into one. It's overwhelming. “If your tongue isn't inside me in the next five seconds, you don't get to come.”

Dean wastes two seconds groaning, “Fuck,” and then he spreads Cas with white knuckled thumbs and gets his mouth on him. He's already plenty wet, the sweet taste of it better than any drug Dean's dabbled with. Hit of lust so hard that his dick throbs and he moans into it. His tongue pushes in easy, and he gets it in as far as he can. Normally he'd work up to that, but Cas said five seconds so he goes right for gold. Works his jaw to get in deeper, swirls and flicks and every little trick he's ever learned to make someone go crazy with just his mouth. Cas is no exception. He sweats, and leaks more slick, rocks back on Dean's tongue like he wants to fuck himself on it.

All the while he's telling Dean, “Just like that,” and “Fuck, yeah,” and “God, your mouth. You were, fuck, you were made for this weren't you, baby?” And Dean's dick is so hard he wants to cry. His hips keep hitching up but the way Cas is angled means that he's just fucking air and that's all kinds of way too hot. 

“Put your fingers in too.” Cas says, and he's not asking, he's telling. Dean's jaw’s a little sore, but he could do this all night if Cas told him to in that smoke on the rocks voice. All heat and temptation and command rolled up into a sexy rasp that trips along his skin. Where the hell has Cas been his whole life?

One index finger from each of his hands press in easy alongside his tongue. He tugs gently at Cas's rim and licks in deep. Satisfying cry wrenched from Cas's chest as he does. Dean's chin is soaked, it's dripping on his chest now that Cas's all worked up for him. He wishes he could see his face right now, but he hopes he'll get to when Cas fucks him. Dean moans again—or he never stopped moaning, he's not sure—at the image that paints in his mind.

"Fuck, just your fingers now.”

Dean lets his head drop back against the door on a hot gasp. Gets three fingers inside of Cas, all slippery wet for him, and now that his mouth’s free for other uses he makes good on it as he angles his fingers just right, seeks out that perfect little spot that's gonna light Cas up. “God, Cas, so wet for me. Got me covered in it.”

Gutturally, Cas moans as Dean's fingers graze his prostate,  _ “Dean. _ Dean.”

Over and over, while he pushes back into every thrust of Dean's fingers, sets a pace that Dean can't help but follow. His thighs are shaking and his hips corkscrew, hot, sweet noises that tell Dean he loves this. Dean just wants to soak in them.

“Taste so good, too,” he says, voice dirty and low, running hot with his desire. “All sweet and open for me. Tell me what you want, Cas. Tell me what to do. Please.”  

“Fuck,” Cas swears, “take your fingers out and suck them clean.”

The second Dean's fingers are free, Cas looks over his shoulder to watch as Dean sucks them into his shiny-messy mouth, lips pursed around them; he puts on a show. Lets Cas see the flash of his tongue and he revels in the intensity of Cas's gaze as he does it.

“Always let omegas tell you what do?” Cas asks curiously as he shifts them around so  that Dean's sitting in the middle of the seat, feet planted on the floor and his dick curving right up, big and long and sticky-wet against his t-shirt.

A hand on his dick stalls Dean's words for a moment. Cas is in the middle of rolling the condom onto him when he clicks back online. His cheeks burn, but he shrugs, “Never met one who wanted to, but if you're askin’ if I like it,  _ hell _ yeah.” 

 

—— 

 

Heat sears in Cas's gut. Effervesces under his skin in a tingling rush that threatens to slam him right into his climax. Tangible, hard proof that Dean's enjoying this just as much as he is. That Dean  _ wants _ him just the way he is  It's overpowering and it's hot and it makes him want Dean so, so, so much more than he already did. More than his pretty face, and his pretty cock, and a scent that's so perfect he couldn't have imagined something better if he tried.

Dean's his. It defies everything Cas thought he wanted, but it's like something inside of him clicks into place as soon as he thinks it. This possessive need to claim and bite and mark up that isn't entirely biological in origin. Because biology says he should be the one who wants to be marked up but here Cas is, sitting in Dean's lap, wetter than he's ever gotten with a partner, biting dark kisses into the column of Dean's neck, arms around his shoulders and one hand knotted in the top of his hair. Dean's hard cock, big enough that it’s intimidating, slotted between his cheeks, while Cas teases him with slick friction so close to what they both want.

_ “Cas.”  _ Dean whispers, and he sounds wrecked, breathy, “Fuck,  _ Cas, _ Cas.”

Like he can't think past his name and Cas loves it. “Want me to fuck you, Dean?” he asks just as breathless. “Sink down hot and tight on your cock over and over again until you swell up and knot me? Tell me exactly how bad you want it, Dean.”

Their foreheads are pressed together, his eyes are closed, and he can smell himself on Dean, thrill that shoots through him and makes him gush a little slicker. “Yeah,” Dean pants, “Cas, please? Want you so bad.” His hands are grasping at Cas's back, dragging over his sweat-damp skin and clutching at him in turns. “God, fuck me, please. I need you.”

There’s not even a hint of shame in Dean’s voice, just desperation and pleading. Dean’s head tilts back and to the side. Long line of his neck submissively exposed. “Fuck,” Cas breathes, “God, Dean.”

“Please.”

And that’s, well, that’s all the teasing Cas can take. He reaches back and lines Dean up, sinks down onto him slowly. Inch, by inch, he stretches himself wide around Dean. His thighs are shaking and he pants as he bottoms out, fuck Dean’s so big. Feels fucking incredible all pushed up inside of him, and Cas doesn’t know how he’s never done this before, because now he never wants to stop.

Dean’s biting his lip, he’s staring wide-eyed hot at Cas’s mouth like he wishes he was biting that instead. He’s holding himself still despite every muscle in his body being tense with the effort of it, and Cas thinks, he’s been a good boy, he deserves a reward. So he grinds himself down on him at the same time as he pulls him into a kiss.

The sound that Dean makes is broken heat, needy and sexy, and Cas’s body reacts primally to it. He lifts himself up in a smooth flex of his hips and rolls back down hard. Pleasure like a living thing in him that rises and falls in heated bursts alongside his body’s movements. 

 

—— 

 

Dean lost the ability to think rationally right about the time Cas had slid down tight and wet and so fucking hot around him. He pretty much lost the ability to do anything other than hold on for the ride when Cas finally, finally, kissed him.

Messy, uncoordinated, Cas dominates his mouth from the very first press of their lips. Dean just does his best to kiss back. Loses himself in the sensation of Cas dragging hotly up and down his shaft. Cas pushing his tongue into Dean’s mouth, practically fucking him with it. He’s already skating dangerously close to the edge of sanity, and that just coils more heat in his gut.

He’s whimpering, whining into Cas’s mouth in a way he might have the brain cells to be embarrassed over later but at the moment, all he cares about is the way that it makes Cas speed up, the way it makes him moan right back. Cas is shivering, and Dean’s hands smooth over his sides before he wraps one around Cas’s cock, hot weight of it in his palm so perfect he sighs Cas’s name.

God, Cas drops his head back on a moan that sends a flash of lightning heat through Dean. He blinks his eyes open, and he can just barely see enough to watch the smooth head of Cas’s cock disappear and reappear through his fist over and over as he fucks up into it and then back down onto Dean.

He’s so close, and he can feel his knot swelling, can feel it catching now each time Cas slams his body down. He wants to push up hard into Cas, wants to wrap his arms around his waist and drive himself up into him hard and fast until his knot really catches and he comes buried in all that heat, but he wants to hold off too. Needs Cas to come first. Some deep, dark part of him hopes Cas will tell him when he can come.

“Fuck,” Cas’s voice sounds as shaky as Dean feels, “Don’t stop, ah, just, don’t stop.”

He tucks his face into Dean’s neck, and he can hear—can feel—Cas scenting him. His lip curls up in an involuntary display of want and then he’s begging Cas to bite him, “Fuck, do it, do it, Cas. Right there. Wanna feel your teeth. Bite me.” He’s a hairsbreadth from panting out  _ mate me _ when Cas’s lips close over his skin and he bites down almost hard enough to break the skin.

Dean’s body seizes up as Cas slams down hard and his knot catches. Hot little twitches of Cas’s hips that Dean presses into like he wants to get in deeper. He scrounges up enough awareness to tighten his grip on Cas’s cock, to jerk him ruthlessly to an orgasm. His whole body tightens and trembles, and he groans where he’s latched onto Dean. Spills warm and wet onto Dean’s shirt, his fingers curled into the collar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Dean’s own climax tears through him before Cas is even finished pulsing in his hand. Pleasure in sharp, sharp crests that steal his breath and white out his vision. He can’t hear, can’t think. He’s just existing in throbbing hot sensation that spreads from the base of his spine out through his limbs.

He’s still twitching inside of Cas when he goes boneless on top of him. Lets Dean’s skin slip out of his mouth. A slow ache of pain that Dean enjoys so much that his cock gives another few pulses into the condom.

The car’s muggy, the windows are fogged up with hot breaths, and there’s a smeared palm print on one of them that Dean can’t recall happening. His lips twitch up into a smile as Cas scents him again, still tucked into his neck. He drops a kiss to the top of Cas’s head and lets his lips rest there for a while. Just breathes in the roasting marshmallows, campfire smell of him, the smell of both of them, and sex, that fills the air.

He keeps waiting for it to get awkward, for Cas to say something about this being a one time thing, after all neither of them were looking, but he doesn’t. His breathing evens out, and Dean figures, they’ve got a while to wait for his knot to go down anyway, so he just keeps his arms wrapped tight around him and tries not to think too much. 

 

——

It’s not easy, because Cas isn’t someone that things come easily to and neither is Dean. They butt heads at first, and there are times when Cas knows that Dean can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic—hint: he is—he always is. But looking back on their first year together as they sit in the same booth that they first met at, Cas can’t help but be grateful.

Sure, the smug smiles and self-congratulatory pats on the backs their fathers have been exchanging basically all year have been annoying, but without them, he might never have found Dean.

Dean, who makes him pancakes at noon on Saturdays because Cas likes to sleep in. Who wakes him up with soft kisses and promises of hot coffee. Who for some reason finds Cas’s general surliness cute. Which Cas finds insufferable and endearing in equal measure because when he’s grumpy he doesn’t  _ want _ to be found cute, but when he’s not, he’s happy Dean does.

Dean who comes home from work covered in grease and sweat, and who sometimes keeps his coveralls on because he knows how hot it gets Cas. Who lets Cas boss him around in bed, and treats him like an equal out of it. Who he loves with every fibre of his being, and who’s—staring at him from across the table with one eyebrow raised like he’s waiting for an answer that Cas definitely missed the question to.

“I love you?” he tries, and Dean laughs and shakes his head.

“Nice try, babe.”

“I had a fifty-fifty shot.” Cas says somberly with a shrug of one shoulder, lips twitching up as Dean smiles fondly at him.

“Uh-huh. Well, what I actually asked was, what are you thinking so hard about?” Dean says before he stuffs a large forkful of pie into his mouth.

“Oh,” Cas says, “You.” Dean raises an eyebrow as he chews, so Cas elaborates, “I was contemplating how lucky I am to have you. Even if our parents are obnoxiously proud of their matchmaking skills.”

“I love how romantic you are,” Dean says with a smirk.

“You did mate me,” Cas offers as he takes a bite of the crème brûlée in front of him.

Dean’s smirk widens into a goofy grin, one that Cas impossibly loves more every single day. “Sure did.”

Sacrifices of his dignity had to be made at the altar of Dean, and Cas is always willing to pay. So he has to put up with his dad’s knowing smiles and John’s good-natured ribbing. It’s a tiny inconvenience compared to the way his life had suddenly gone from black and white to color. From two dimensional animation to live action 3D with surround sound. Anything he had to give would be worth this, worth Dean.

Green eyes catch his as Cas pays the bill, and the smirk on Dean's face doesn’t really leave much question about whether they’re going to repeat the other half of their first date. Cas can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> So, there it is! My 50th work. Lemme know what you thought in the comments. If you really loved it, do me a huge favor and share it on Tumblr: [Here](https://daydreamdestiel.tumblr.com/post/171101899492/our-dads-play-matchmaker-daydreamdestiel) or Twitter: [Here](https://twitter.com/anymomma/status/966056325686980615)
> 
> When I started writing fic, I definitely didn't know I had it in me to write over 500,000 words and 50 fics. I'm so glad you've all decided to come along for the ride though. <3<3


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